<| Happy Holidays, Pogue! |>

As I sit down to write in my journal entry for the night I see my younger sisters Kitty and Lydia rush past. The girls are still rambunctious from running around the factories and flirting with the Peacekeepers for the majority of the day. It is creating quite the ruckus and it is giving me a headache. “Keep it down will you? Some of us are trying to have some silence here!” I yell at them from my room. The giggling turned into a loud gasp as the footsteps turn into rushed shuffles from down the hall. They open the door to their shared room and close it with a quiet click. Silence and peace are once again restored to the house. I reflect upon the past week, trying to remember everything that I have done. The candle shines brightly upon the blank, somewhat yellowed page. I have had this leather bound book for quite some time, since I realized what the Games actually were. It is my Games book.

I try to write down my feelings about the Games as if I were in them, or at least my reactions to everything that is presented. For starters I would not be able handle the everlasting darkness that perpetuates the hours. I have to admit I usually do not pay attention to my district tributes, as we tend to have the luck of dying early on. However this Cha piqued my interested. Watching her try to make constellations out of the simple dots in the ceiling, it made me look up and appreciate the night sky more. To be grateful for every little bit of light, even if it is from the faces of the dead that illuminated her floating hand. To show fear used to be considered weak to me. Now I understand it.

The Dark used to be something that I considered to be a thing to only sleep in. It had no other use or purpose. Of course the Gamemakers decide to throw it in our faces about taking something as simple as granted as light for granted. Yet Cha was able to take it and make something beautiful about it. She found her own stars and made a lasting influence upon her allies and probably a good amount of Panem as well. Though this is only about a page in my worn out journal, it’s my own testament to Cha my fellow citizen and our Tribute from District Eight. I hope that she is better wherever she is.

~Izzabel Bennet, Saturday of the Hunger Games in the year of the 68th.